


Hope and Tequila

by curiouslycurious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, because MAGIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslycurious/pseuds/curiouslycurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not to be a copycat, Regina, but I am not in the mood for a hope speech."</p>
<p>The responding snort is enough to make Emma look over, and the disbelieving eyebrow raise is enough to settle some of her nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope and Tequila

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Emma runs out on her parents in 4.17. Alternate scene.

Emma sits at the bar at Granny's holding a long-gone-cold cup of black coffee. She's not particularly thirsty, but when one sits at a bar, one's hand is usually holding a drink. She doesn't even remember ordering it.

 

The only things swirling around in her brain at the moment are light and darkness and babies and _I'm your mother_ and _I don't care_. They all bounce around from one side of her mind to the next without settling anywhere, and it makes her dizzy. She doesn't turn when the bell on the front door rings, but the familiar click-clack of heels on linoleum is enough to bring her somewhat back to the present.

 

Emma sets her coffee cup down when a warm body slips up onto the barstool to her right.

 

"Not to be a copycat, Regina, but I am _not_ in the mood for a hope speech."

 

The responding snort is enough to make Emma look over, and the disbelieving eyebrow raise is enough to settle some of her nerves.

 

"Shots. Two." Regina holds up two fingers to the girl behind the bar before turning back to face Emma. "Me neither."

 

Emma smiles at Regina's scrunchy face. Because of course she's not here to comfort her. Of course, because Regina _gets it_. Regina gets that her parents are fucked up. That what they did was so far past fucked up that she doesn't even know what to call it.

 

"You know the worst thing about all this?"

 

Regina doesn't answer, and Emma is grateful for that for some reason.

 

"The worst part is that I think they were more sorry that they had to tell me than they were at what they had done." Emma can't help the crack in her voice as she finishes. Can only see a baby and a portal and a mother without her kid. A mother without her kid for no good fucking reason.

 

Their shots are set down in front of them. Regina clinks the side of Emma's glass with her own, and they both drink.

 

"Two more," Regina calls, voice husky from the burn of whatever it is they're drinking. Emma wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

It's quiet. The only two people out this late are Leroy - sitting in a back booth with a beer in one hand looking half asleep - and a couple at the front of the restaurant who she doesn't know.

 

"Iron Man is my favorite Avenger."

 

Emma blinks. "...I'm sorry, what?"

 

Regina tilts her empty shot glass and rolls the bottom on the bar. "Iron Man. He just," she pauses to look over at Emma, "He just doesn't give a shit," she finishes, all serious face and hard eyebrows.

 

Emma has only heard Regina curse a handful of times, and so she can't decide what's more surprising: Regina throwing the word 'shit' around like it's _no big deal_ or the fact that, apparently, they're now discussing Marvel superheroes.

 

Emma considers for a moment before responding. "I like Thor."

 

And Regina just nods and picks up the new shot glass in front of her. When she lifts it to tap against Emma's glass again, Emma meets her in the middle this time before they both throw back number two.

 

By number six, there is decidedly less conversation and decidedly more giggling. And if hearing Regina curse was a shock to her system, listening to Regina giggling like a drunk high schooler is enough to make her brain fuzzy.

 

"Favorite shitty TV show reruns," Emma says before licking salt off of her hand, downing a shot of Tequila, and popping a lime in her mouth with a grin which Regina matches.

 

Regina hums as she's thinking, slow to lick her own salty hand, quick to down the Tequila, and absentmindedly sucking a slice of lime between her lips while she thinks.

 

Emma is staring at the lime slice held between thumb and index finger between Regina's lips. She swallows hard, and nearly jumps out of her skin when Regina shouts out her reply.

 

“Seinfeld!” Regina slaps the counter.

 

The girl behind the bar glares at them both. It's after 3am, and, technically, Granny's closed over an hour ago, but who's going to throw the Evil Queen and the Savior out on their drunk asses?

 

Emma folds her arms over her chest. “Seinfeld is not shitty, Regina. Seinfeld is a fucking _classic,_ ” she says, and if her words are a little slurred, well, them's the breaks.

 

With a regal wave of her hand, Regina dismisses Emma's assessment. “Favorite _Friend_.”

 

“As in--”

 

Regina downs another shot and practically forces Emma's next glass to her lips until she drinks. “Monica, Rachel, Chandler, Phoebe, etcetera, etcetera.”

 

When Emma has successfully not choked on her drink, she wipes her mouth and answers, “Phoebe.” without hesitating.

 

Regina seems to consider this, but then she's nodding, and if her eyeliner wasn't a little smudged, her lipstick long gone, her hair slightly mussed, and eyelids drooping lower by the minute, Emma may have been able to take the moment seriously. As it is, she ends up laughing at her a little.

 

Regina looks up and grins. “We may need to stop drinking now,” she says, and her eyes flick down to Emma's lips and back so fast that Emma's not even sure it happened.

 

But Emma nods and swivels her chair back to face the bar, resting her elbows on the counter. Her chest is warm, and she's not sure if it's the alcohol or the fact that she hasn't had a normal night in four years – memory-loss year notwithstanding – and it feels _good_ to feel like a human again.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Emma turns her head to look at Regina, and she looks small. Her hair is hanging down over her shoulders, and Emma can't see her face.

 

“For what?” Emma asks, and she's not sure if she wants to know the answer. She wants to go back to superheroes and Favorites and laughing, but the mood has definitely shifted. Emma starts kicking the back of the bar with the toe of her boot while she waits.

 

“Just,” Regina gestures at the air, “For everything,” she finishes. “It's all dreadfully dramatic around here these days.”

 

Emma snorts out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” She feels a warm weight on her arm and looks down to find Regina's hand squeezing it. She looks up to meet Regina's eyes, and they are soft and kind and Emma relaxes instantly.

 

“I have to go now, dear,” Regina says and all trace of the alcohol-slur in her speech is gone. “I'm sorry.” She gives Emma a sad smile that she doesn't quite understand. “Are you alright, Love?”

 

Emma starts at the use of the name, the title sounding off coming from Regina.

 

“Love?” she hears her say again, and suddenly Regina is shimmering around the edges, and Emma shakes her head to clear her vision, cursing the Tequila.

 

When Emma looks back up, Regina is gone, and she's staring at Hook.

 

“Emma?” he asks, and she looks down at his hand on her arm. The coffee cup in her hand is cold. The few customers in the diner are talking quietly amongst themselves, and she and Killian are the only two at the bar.

 

“Yeah,” she says, finally looking at him. “Yeah, I'm fine.” She shakes his hand off of her arm. “I just needed some space.” She offers him a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Thanks.”

 

Killian starts talking about fate and destiny and something about second chances and forgiveness, but she's not listening to him. All Emma can think about is fucking _Seinfeld_ and the feel of delicate fingers squeezing her arm, looking into soft eyes.

 

_Regina?_ she chances the thought, and feels a little ridiculous until--

 

_I'm sorry, Emma._  She feels Regina's voice in her mind more than she hears it. _You felt like you could use the escape._

 

_Where are you?_ Emma asks, and she doesn't feel crazy. She doesn't.

 

_Out cold in my own vault, it would seem._

 

“What!” she yells, standing at the same time and nearly knocking her chair over behind her.

 

Hook looks shocked but stands with her. He tries to grab for her arm as she pushes past him to leave the diner, but she pulls out of his loose grasp and starts pulling on her jacket as she shoulders her way through the front door.

 

“Emma, wait!” she hears him call behind her, but she's already jogging towards the graveyard. She has no plan whatsoever, but what is there to plan really. She has magic. She'll figure out the rest when she gets there.

 

_Don't do what it is I think you're doing,_ she hears Regina's voice again, but she ignores the warning. _Emma,_ more forcefully this time.

 

_I'm not leaving you there so if you have any suggestions, now's the time to voice them._ Emma stops at the entrance to the graveyard and leans against the gate, crossing her arms over her chest. And even though she's fairly certain that Regina can't see her, she glares out into the night anyway.

 

Regina's response is a long time coming, but when she speaks, Emma can feel the sigh and the grudging acceptance in her voice. _Just don't die, Miss Swan._

 

Emma grins and marches off towards Regina's vault, ever the Savior.

 


End file.
